Small Acts
by Second Star On The Left
Summary: Ficlets set in the Acts of Treason 'verse. Various pairings.
1. A Purpose

**AN: **I ship these two so hard I think I might choke on it.

Canon-compliant, so prepare for angst.

Part of a one-shot series set in the _Acts of Treason_ 'verse. More to follow.

* * *

They meet through Ashara, Elia's friend and Arthur's sister, and they are lost within moments. She is small and dainty, delicate rather than frail (he will never understand how so many people miss the strength in her eyes), the most strikingly beautiful creature he's ever seen.

Ashara is elated to hear it from each of them separately, and somehow manages to trick them into meeting alone in the most secluded corner of the Water Gardens in the late evening.

Elia's lips taste like blood oranges, and there are stars in her eyes. All Arthur can think is how beautiful she would look in lavender and silver.

* * *

She is there when he falls to one knee before a madman and has no choice but to accept the white cloak and shield offered to him, as pale as his sword but uglier than anything he has ever known – it is an honour to serve in the Kingsguard, Allem tells him, but Arthur hates everything his brilliant new cloak represents.

Elia looks at it with such hatred that his heart stops, and when she looks at him he can see nothing in her eyes but a pain that echoes the anguish breaking him apart.

* * *

He travels extensively with Prince Rhaegar and even becomes fond of the man – that he is loyal is never in doubt, of course, because Arthur takes his vows seriously, but he also knows that the King is likely to tear the realm asunder through sheer force of will.

When it is announced that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen will finally take a wife, Arthur is happy for the man who he tentatively names his friend.

When he hears that that wife's name is Princess Elia Martell, something in Arthur's gut twists and he thinks that he hates no man more than the silver prince.

* * *

It quickly becomes clear that Rhaegar and Elia's is a marriage of convenience, a political match, and Arthur feels a savage sort of satisfaction at that knowledge even though he wishes more than anything for Elia to have a husband who appreciates her passion, her fire, her beauty.

Lewyn alone of his new brothers seems to understand, Lewyn with Melaine tucked away in a different house every week, and he sympathises. He knows why it is that Arthur becomes quiet, taciturn, why he broods and suffers from black moods.

The note, unsigned and sealed with an unmarked blob of red wax, bearing only an address in the city and a date and time, lifts Arthur's mood.

* * *

King's Landing wants to see either a Targaryen or a Martell when Rhaenys is born, and so that it what they see.

All Arthur sees is Allyria's face, Allem's face, but coloured like Elia and Oberyn.

Aegon, born five years later, is so thoroughly Targaryen that he allays any sneaking doubts about Elia's fidelity, and both she and Arthur breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

Word of the sack reaches the Tower of Joy long before Ned Stark does, and Arthur thinks that he would gladly take Dawn to every Targaryen and every Stark and Baratheon and Lannister – especially the Targaryens and Lannisters – in the whole world for taking Elia and Rhaenys from him.

He is the greatest knight in the realm, and he knows it, but when Ned Stark challenges him and has a purpose, the very thing Arthur lost the moment he heard of Elia's fate at Gregor Clegane's hands, of what Amory Lorch did to Rhaenys, Arthur fights back only enough so Oswell and Gerold can't say he forsook his duty.

Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, sworn brother of the Kingsguard, took his vows seriously, but he broke them and it breaks him.

He dies with her name on his lips, no more than a breath, but it is enough.


	2. An Unopened Letter

_**AN:**_The letter Robb left with Ashara for Myrcella before going to the Wall to fight.

* * *

_Myrcella,_

_If you are reading this, I am dead and Theon is Lord of Winterfell. I know that you will have other concerns, but I beg you now - do not let Aegon and Daenerys influence you in this. Raise Theon as a Stark and Arys as a Lannister, and remember that I love you all more than I can bear._

_I had hoped to remain at Winterfell until you returned, but the weather that proved so lucky for us was a scourge to you, I am told, and so I will have to remember you at Riverrun. Remember me there, too, and not as the bones that will be returned if I die. _

_We were happiest at Riverrun, I think - with Rickard, then with the twins. If you are reading this, then I will not have the chance to make Winterfell your home in more than name. Try, though, because it is Theon's home, will be Arys' home until he leaves for Old Oaks, has been the home of House Stark for longer than any of us can say. You may have been born a Baratheon and a Lannister, but you are a Stark now, Myrcella. Do not forget that when it seems the North remembers too much and winter has come too harsh. You are a Stark of Winterfell, my lady wife, the mother of three more Starks. You are one of us._

_If the time comes and you wish to marry again, do not refrain from doing so out of some sort of misguided loyalty to me - provided any other man's sons do not attempt to usurp Theon's place, all I could ever wish for is your happiness. You were made for happiness, Myrcella, not for the grief I have given you, and I would see you happy again, even if it is not from this world._

_I love you. I have loved you almost from the day I met you, and I will always love you. _

_Your husband,_

_Robb._


	3. A Blushing Bride

**AN: **Sansa was a nervous bride.

* * *

Sansa knocks on Robb and Myrcella's door the night before her wedding and is relieved when it is Myrcella who answers.

"Is something the matter?" her goodsister asks, a sadly automatic reaction these days.

"I- No, not like that," Sansa says, suddenly feeling very silly, and blushes. "It is nothing, I will-"

"You will come to Edmure's solar with me and we will sit by the fire and discuss whatever it is that is bothering you," Myrcella breaks in firmly, turning away for a moment but leaving the door wide open. Robb, Sansa can see, has pulled on breeches and is setting Ice back in its stand sheepishly. He and Myrcella have a rapid, whispered conversation, their eyes flickering back to her every other word nearly, and then Myrcella leans up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek before pulling her robe tighter around her body and slipping out into the corridor with Sansa.

"What if I'm a bad wife?" Sansa blurts out as soon as Myrcella shuts the door of Uncle Edmure's solar. "What if Willas-"

"Willas adores you," Myrcella says, laughing as she takes Sansa's face in her hands. "Oh, Sansa, how could he not? You will be a _wonderful _wife."

"No, Cella," she says impatiently, more embarrassed than she can ever remember being in her life. "What if I- What if I don't _please him?!"_

Myrcella's eyes go wide, and then she bites her lip.

"Come sit down, Sansa," she says, leading Sansa to the chairs by the fire. "We shall have a little talk, shall we?"

* * *

Sansa is radiant on Robb's arm as he walks her the length of the sept, and Edmure cannot help but think of the bizarre number of parallels between this wedding and Cat's - the beautiful girl with the long, long red hair, the alliance being sealed by the marriage, the way Willas' hands shake as he wraps Sansa in his colours, just as Ned's had when he draped grey and white around Cat's shoulders. The war against the crown, the Mad King, the looming shadow of so much death passed already and more yet to come.

There are differences too, of course - Sansa and Willas are already in love, for one, and this wedding feast is not tainted by the knowledge that Sansa was to wed another. Sansa does not hesitate when Willas leans in to kiss her, nor does he flinch when she lays a hand on his shoulder.

They watch each other with such blatant anticipation in their eyes as they are carted away for the bedding that Edmure disapproves on principle because Sansa is his _niece, _and no matter the uncomfortable knowledge of what a bedding means that he may have, he still cannot approve of any man who will actually lay a hand on Sansa simply because she is Cat's girl and that is the end of it.

* * *

Willas' skin is warmer and softer under her hands than Sansa thought it would be.

He seems as nervous as she is, his hands trembling against her body as he traces the shape of her spine and pulls her closer, lower into his lap.

"So lovely," he murmurs into her neck. "Sansa-"

She kisses him, ducking her head to find his mouth, and he tastes of summerwine and lemon cakes and suddenly, she does not understand why she was so afraid. Myrcella explained to her about the pain, but she also explained - embarrassingly frankly, considering she is married to Sansa's _brother - _that the pain was only a very, very small part of it, and this is _Willas, _after all.

She gasps as the heat of his hand covers her breast, still careful and gentle but moving with more intent now, no longer trembling.

There will be a little pain later, Sansa knows, and in the morning they must return to real life, to war and fear, but for now there is only the soft warmth of Willas' skin and the taste of summerwine on his tongue, and she feels very foolish indeed for having been afraid.


End file.
